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Description
another Paradox mod unit,this time from the Mediterranean syndicate.

"I'm really just a peaceful, noble savage. I simply live more purely than other people"

- Silenus Trentini, Satyr

When a National Geographic team was allowed to explore a Sprawl for an article for the magazine, they were given a Helios Security escort to take care of any legal niceties. Mostly they kept away drug addicts and riff raff, without any real concern for their safety. But when a photographer took a picture of a man in the shadows of a crumbling ally, who had curious shoes that seemed to be based on springs and what seemed to be wires hanging from his wrists, the Helios turned white with terror. Immediately they fired their guns at him. Instead of falling down, the man let out a vaguely pleasured howl of pain as he literally jumped over the building behind him. When asked what happened, a Helios officer famously quipped “Don’t ask; you’ll sleep better”

The Mediterranean Syndicate’s new assassins and wilderness skirmishers, called Satyrs, were well armed, to be sure. With monomolecular implants, they could dice an enemy in under a second. They could also leap across great distances thanks to specialized foot wear. But it wasn’t enough for the company training them, Wilderness Solutions. In trials they had an unacceptable loss rate. Analysis showed that too many times split second fears meant death at the hands of long range fire. Given the success of Syndicate battlesuits in psychosurgery improving battlefield performance, the assassins were given special, irreversible surgery in the part of their brain dealing with inhibitions.

The next day policing Legionnaires responded to a complaint that Wilderness Solutions hadn’t opened their doors. Forcing them open, the Legionnaires were confronted with sections of the staff, strewn across the ground along with unidentified fluids, all leading to a hole that had been sliced open. It is thought the Satyrs woke up from post-op, and the staff died seconds later. The following week, Legion Security noted an unprecedented spike of murders, rape, and substance theft unlike anything in Syndicate history. It was considered significant enough to bring in squads of Centurions to restore the status quo. Then Praetorians were brought in when too many Centurions were dying, left in bloodied piles, sometimes in grotesquely humorous poses. Each hour was accompanied by a hideous laughter that echoed through the neon maze.

One by one, each assassin was hunted down, and the truth was revealed to the Syndicate. Captured Satyr’s were sedated and studied. It was found out that all inhibitions were gone, and now almost every act gave them pleasure, though the more primal and visceral ones gave the most. If the Satyr’s wanted to do something, they simply did it, without regards to safety or morality. Many normally amoral executives wanted to shut the program down, but others saw the inherent value, if they could only be trained.

Training turned out to be impossible; the Satyrs seemed to enjoy any punishment inflicted on them. Attempts to make them placid by injecting them with nauseating drugs while showing footage of violent acts against Syndicate members also failed, as the Satyrs literally could not make the link in their mind. Instead, they are now merely contained, fulfilling the niche they were designed for. They are also used to inflitrate enemy buildings, killing all inside and caking the halls inside with blood to be found by replacement crews who come to man the empty structure. In order to ensure their cooperation (as it is), they are now allowed free reign of the Sprawls if they do not attack Syndicate personal in battle. Times when Satyrs are between battles are called a “Bacchanalia” in the Sprawl, where locking the door is no safety if the Satyrs want what you have, whether drugs, your daughter, or your blood.

Description
another Paradox mod unit,this time from the Mediterranean syndicate.

"I'm really just a peaceful, noble savage. I simply live more purely than other people"

- Silenus Trentini, Satyr

When a National Geographic team was allowed to explore a Sprawl for an article for the magazine, they were given a Helios Security escort to take care of any legal niceties. Mostly they kept away drug addicts and riff raff, without any real concern for their safety. But when a photographer took a picture of a man in the shadows of a crumbling ally, who had curious shoes that seemed to be based on springs and what seemed to be wires hanging from his wrists, the Helios turned white with terror. Immediately they fired their guns at him. Instead of falling down, the man let out a vaguely pleasured howl of pain as he literally jumped over the building behind him. When asked what happened, a Helios officer famously quipped “Don’t ask; you’ll sleep better”

The Mediterranean Syndicate’s new assassins and wilderness skirmishers, called Satyrs, were well armed, to be sure. With monomolecular implants, they could dice an enemy in under a second. They could also leap across great distances thanks to specialized foot wear. But it wasn’t enough for the company training them, Wilderness Solutions. In trials they had an unacceptable loss rate. Analysis showed that too many times split second fears meant death at the hands of long range fire. Given the success of Syndicate battlesuits in psychosurgery improving battlefield performance, the assassins were given special, irreversible surgery in the part of their brain dealing with inhibitions.

The next day policing Legionnaires responded to a complaint that Wilderness Solutions hadn’t opened their doors. Forcing them open, the Legionnaires were confronted with sections of the staff, strewn across the ground along with unidentified fluids, all leading to a hole that had been sliced open. It is thought the Satyrs woke up from post-op, and the staff died seconds later. The following week, Legion Security noted an unprecedented spike of murders, rape, and substance theft unlike anything in Syndicate history. It was considered significant enough to bring in squads of Centurions to restore the status quo. Then Praetorians were brought in when too many Centurions were dying, left in bloodied piles, sometimes in grotesquely humorous poses. Each hour was accompanied by a hideous laughter that echoed through the neon maze.

One by one, each assassin was hunted down, and the truth was revealed to the Syndicate. Captured Satyr’s were sedated and studied. It was found out that all inhibitions were gone, and now almost every act gave them pleasure, though the more primal and visceral ones gave the most. If the Satyr’s wanted to do something, they simply did it, without regards to safety or morality. Many normally amoral executives wanted to shut the program down, but others saw the inherent value, if they could only be trained.

Training turned out to be impossible; the Satyrs seemed to enjoy any punishment inflicted on them. Attempts to make them placid by injecting them with nauseating drugs while showing footage of violent acts against Syndicate members also failed, as the Satyrs literally could not make the link in their mind. Instead, they are now merely contained, fulfilling the niche they were designed for. They are also used to inflitrate enemy buildings, killing all inside and caking the halls inside with blood to be found by replacement crews who come to man the empty structure. In order to ensure their cooperation (as it is), they are now allowed free reign of the Sprawls if they do not attack Syndicate personal in battle. Times when Satyrs are between battles are called a “Bacchanalia” in the Sprawl, where locking the door is no safety if the Satyrs want what you have, whether drugs, your daughter, or your blood.